The pandemic has distorted everyone’s sense of time, but time and life march on. Vanessa Dueck has this Perspective.
Most Saturday mornings when I was a kid, my mom would tell me to clean my room. I wasn’t allowed to come out until everything was spotless, including my dreaded clean up spaces: under the bed and in my closet: the two places I enjoyed shoving things to give the illusion of cleanliness.
I would begrudgingly head upstairs after breakfast, isolated in my room; flipping through old yearbooks, painting my nails, and occasionally, painstakingly making piles to be organized and never quite knowing how to organize them. Sometimes, I’d be in there all day — the task monotonous, but the time soaring by.
Many people have been experiencing this same bizarro phenomenon with the pandemic isolation. Where have the last 14 months gone? Without set routines and social interaction, I've had a hard time creating structures that provide a familiar sense of time. Every day has started to feel like a Saturday cleaning my room.
My kids are growing and changing, but since we are never apart, I just don’t notice it.
At the beginning of the shelter in place, I began to see a new baby around my townhouse complex, carried around by his grandfather. He speaks no English, but we always seemed to be out for a short walk the same time each day, so we started waving to each other. A nice, silent, neighborly relationship developed.